


Put Away These Lonesome Hearts

by DeMarcos



Category: Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits - David Wong
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Constipation, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeMarcos/pseuds/DeMarcos
Summary: Will gets drunk on Valentine's Day and the Suits meddle in his love life. For reasons.For Garbagemom and celestial_cinnamon.
Relationships: Zoey Ashe/Will Blackwater
Comments: 22
Kudos: 8





	Put Away These Lonesome Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This is the combination of two different prompts. Separately, I hard time figuring out how to make the magic happen, but together, they sparked joy! Or at least I _hope_ they do.
> 
> There is a Carlin reference, a tiny nod to _John Dies at the End_ , and some song lyrics buried in here. Kudos to those who find all three!

For a Friday evening at the cigar bar, it was unusually quiet. Normally, the place would be bustling with the upper crust of Tabula Ra$a, congratulating themselves on their wealth and power from leatherbound thrones. That night, however, the small smattering of patrons spread out, the wide gaps highlighting the emptiness of the bar.

Will spun his snifter of brandy in his hand idly, enjoying the calm as took a puff of his Dominican, letting the smoke linger in his mouth for a moment before exhaling. He’d chosen brandy over scotch, deciding his liver could do with a little variety. A stray piece of ash fell from his cigar onto the arm of his overstuffed leather armchair and he plucked it up between his thumb and middle finger to drop it in the ashtray on the low, mahogany table.

Echo scoffed at him from his right. “Such a neat freak.”

“You say that like this is the first time you’ve met the bastard.” Budd replied, smirking devilishly over the rim of his scotch and soda, eyes flitting between Echo and Will.

“Because every day, I am continually surprised by Queen Clean over here.” Echo tipped her head to the side, indicating Will with a soft laugh. Her long, dark hair, out of its usual pulled-back style, spilled over her shoulders with the motion.

They might have had a bit too much to drink.

It had been a slow week (for them), no external threats to be had, the world neither ending nor the economy of Tabula Ra$a going up in flames, and after gathering up their things before leaving the Casa, they’d all decided to meet up later that evening for drinks.

In waiting for Andre, they’d started without him. They’d been waiting awhile.

“Yes, well,” Will started, raising his snifter, concentrating hard to keep his hand from shaking due to his inebriated state, “her royal highness likes a clean house. And if you keep mocking me, Ms. Ling, I might have to clean house.” The slight upturn of his lips belied the threat. He took a drink of his brandy, downing the last few swallows.

Narrowing her eyes mockingly, Echo leaned forward in her chair. “Uh-huh… scary as you are, Will, the only royal highness who can clean my house is Zoey.” She paused, brain trying to work through the haze of liquor to determine if the words made sense. Certain they did, Echo shrugged and sat back. “So shut your turd holster and have another drink.”

Budd started laughing, breaking the silence that had permeated the bar with his guffaws. A few of the other patrons glanced their way, up into the raised area that separated the main floor from the VIP area, before pointedly looking away.

Afraid of the Suits, even when they were drunk.

The fear must have lingered, because when Andre burst through the front doors, letting in a blast of cold air, the patrons jumped in their chairs, shocked by the unexpected boisterous entrance.

Andre made his way across the main floor, wending his way through the overstuffed chairs, tables, and the haze of smoke in one of the gaudiest suits they’d ever seen him in. That was saying a lot, given that Andre was known for his outrageous clothing.

The double-breasted jacket and trousers were a stunning fuchsia, over a pitch-black button-down shirt with French cuffs poking out from the jacket sleeves. His tie was the same color black with fuchsia and purple hearts, his pocket square a glittery purple.

“Good god, man.” Budd breathed as Andre walked up to their table and took a seat. “I think my eyes are melting. Did you leave your sense of taste at the house?”

“Pfft, you dour bitches don’t know the meaning of taste.” Andre unbuttoned his jacket with one hand, waving to the waitress with the other. “Looks like you’re attending a funeral, not out having a fun night with friends.”

It was true, they’d all opted for black attire, Will in an all-black suit, Echo in a slinky black dress with leggings underneath, only her red boots and earrings breaking up the color scheme, and Budd had worn a black suit with a white button-down striped black, his cowboy hat black with a white band.

Will stared at Andre’s outfit like he’d gone mental. “It’s the weather. No one feels cheery when it’s this cold outside.” He blinked. “ _Almost_ no one.”

It was February, and even in the desert, February in Utah could be especially brutal.

The waitress came up to take Andre’s order. “Yeah, sweetie, I’ll have a seven and seven and a Double Corona, and for my friends here, do you think you can get them a life?” When the girl’s eyes widened, Andre just boomed out a laugh. “Never mind. Just my order and a round of fresh drinks for them.”

She scampered off and Echo rolled her eyes at Andre. “You’re leaving the tip, jackass. And screw you, we have _lives_.”

“Oh yeah, sure sure. That’s why on Valentine’s weekend, you morose motherfuckers,” Andre pointed at each one of them, “are _here_ , getting drunk and sucking on big brown dicks, instead of finding some _real_ big brown dicks to do something with.” He winked at Echo lecherously. “Meanwhile, I’ll be out with not one but _two_ lovely ladies, and if I’m lucky, y’all won’t be seeing me ‘til Monday.”

“I’m pretty sure hiring prostitutes on Valentine’s Day is cheating.” Budd said churlishly, sinking down in his seat a bit.

Andre snorted. “It is. I scored these ladies fair and square, which is more than I can say for you three dull-witted applejohns.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and Andre’s cigar. He thanked her before continuing. “I mean, knowing my man Budd, if he put in a little effort, he could probably score a filly before the weekend is over. Butters ‘em up with one of his yarns, a little aural stimulation, if you know what I mean, so I’m not totally worried about him. You,” he said, motioning to Echo with his cigar, “are a praying mantis and I think any guy you try to bang is gonna pick up on the fact that you’ll eat his head afterward and run for the hills. There’s no hope for you… except for maybe a gigolo.”

From the table between them, Andre reached over to pick up the cigar cutter, neatly clipping the end of his cigar. Tossing it down, he grabbed the lighter, dragging the flame over the end of the cigar as he puffed on it, until the tip was cherry red. Leaning back into a cloud of smoke, Andre raised an eyebrow. “And unless you suddenly get _real_ comfortable with a lot of things, Will, no way are you getting into Zoey’s pants. Not now, not ever.”

Will, who had been quietly enjoying the back-and-forth conversation between his friends as he smoked his cigar, instantly froze in his chair. It took a long moment for him to recover from the shock of being so frankly called out. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, dumbass. You ain’t ever gonna work up the nerve to get into Zoey’s pants, no matter how much you want to drop the hog on her. Well… no, there are a lot of drugs you could ply yourself with to try loosening up, but I think it would probably just make her angry, y’know, if she found out you had to get high just to get it up for her… not a good look.”

With the distinct impression that he’d become an exposed nerve, Will plucked his fresh brandy from the table and downed it in one go, in an attempt to numb himself. Gasping from the effort, he fixed Andre with a pointed stare. “I am _not_ trying to sleep with Zoey… that’s ridiculous, and quite honestly, I’m offended at the insinuation.”

Echo, Budd, and Andre all traded glances before erupting into raucous laughter. Budd splashed some of his drink on his suit from shaking so hard, but he didn’t even care, the wet spot spreading across his sleeve.

“What?” Will asked indignantly. “What’s so funny?”

Budd wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ve heard some tall tales in my life, hell, I’ve _told_ some tall tales, but _that one_ takes the cake.”

“Seriously, Will,” Echo said with a wide grin, “you’re a good liar but so are we, and we can see right through you. It’s practically written all over your face. I mean, look at you. You’re blushing.”

Will studiously schooled his features, trying to will the blood away from his face with drunken determination. “It’s just the brandy.”

“Uh-huh.” Andre said. “The brandy and the fact that you want to make sweet _sweet_ love to Zoey.” He mimed kissing with overdramatic smacks of his lips. “Oh, Zoey, _muwah_. You’re so fine, _muwah_. I’m totally not a creep who pervs on young girls, _muwah_.”

The three of them started laughing again, drawing the attention of the other patrons again. Echo smothered her giggles with a hand, her face turning red. “I’ll do anything you want, _muwah_ , and I do mean _anything_.”

“Except anything that hurts my back,” Budd added, “cause I’m so _old_.”

Will glared at Budd flatly. “You’re older than me, asshole.”

“You’re older than _her_.” Budd shot back with a wicked grin.

Becoming uncharacteristically self-conscious, Will stared down at his empty snifter, wondering when he’d become so obvious.

Andre quickly rose from his chair and snatched away the snifter. “Oh, no, none of that maudlin shit.” He tipped the glass upside down, a single drop falling to the plush carpeting of the bar. “We’re gonna need something a lot spicier for this conversation.” He made a mad dash out of the VIP seating toward the main bar, a large streak of pink in their liquor-addled eyes.

“Why do I get the impression I’m going to regret agreeing to come out tonight?”

Echo finished off the last of her red wine and plunked the empty glass down on the table. “Please. If anyone needs an intervention, it’s you. You may end up thanking us, for getting that stick out of your ass.”

Budd snorted. “Gonna need a world-class surgical team to pull off that feat.”

Echo side-eyed Budd. “You hold him down, I’ll get his pants.” She lifted a hand to wiggle her fingers. “Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

Will considered just leaving, but he’d left his overcoat, fedora, and scarf at the coat check. Andre and his hideously colored suit would tackle him before he even made it across the room. Will had fought Andre before. He wasn’t above hair-pulling, and Will didn’t fancy having the altercation broadcast on Blink.

The man in question returned, putting an end to any thoughts of running away, carrying a tray full of tequila shots. Twelve to be exact, three for each of them. Will groaned and leaned in to snuff out his cigar in the ashtray, sending up a plume of acrid smoke.

“Come on, now, is this really necessary?” He asked, waving away the smoke with a few swipes of his hand.

“You’re damn right it is.” Andre replied, carefully doling out their drinks. “We’re gonna pound these shots and you’re gonna come to your damn senses. Now shut up and drink.”

It took them all less than thirty seconds to toss back each shot, not including the pained hissing and groaning as the tequila burned their throats all the way down.

“Jesus,” Will muttered, “it’s Nicaragua all over again.”

Wincing from the last shot, Budd plopped back in his chair. “Heh… our first mission. Pretty sure you were too young to be drinking.”

“I was too young for a lot of things.” Will replied wistfully.

Andre slammed his shot glass on the table so hard he almost shattered it. “Nope, I said _no_ maudlin shit. We’re not discussing popping your murder cherry, we’re discussing your ridiculous goddamn crush on Zoey. You wanna bitch about being too old or young for anything, let’s discuss the fact you’re too old for crushes.”

“It’s not a crush.” Will said. “It’s…” He didn’t even know how to properly put into words what he felt for Zoey.

Echo pointed a finger at herself. “As the only woman here, let me just clarify that yes, it _is_ a crush. You look at her like she hung the fucking moon in the sky. When you walk behind her, I can see hearts and rainbows exploding from your head.” She regarded Will thoughtfully. “Do you have a diary where you scrawl your name with hers over and over again? Mr. and Mrs. Will Blackwater?”

“Hah! Mr. Will Ashe, more like.” Budd teased.

Feeling the tequila course through him, Will smiled despite himself. “It’s in nice calligraphy, actually, and I use a portmanteau of our names. Mr. and Mrs. Blackashe. Mr. and Mrs. Ashewater.”

Andre tipped his head back, giggling drunkenly. “And Arthur used to think Blackwater sounded made up…”

There was a moment of silence between the four of them, thinking fondly of their late boss and friend, before Echo smiled at Will. “I think Arthur would have approved. He wouldn’t have entrusted you to take care of her after he died otherwise.”

“Oh, he’ll take care of her,” Andre said, thrusting his hips, “all night long!”

Budd snorted at the obscene gesture. “The point is, we all know you’re crazy for Zoey and we don’t care. I mean, we care because we have to watch you trail after her like a lovesick puppy, but we don’t care if you wanna knock boots with the boss.”

Will gave voice to his earlier thoughts. “When did I become so obvious?” He asked, slurring his words a bit. “I used to be so much better at hiding my thoughts.”

“Maybe from other people,” Echo said, “but not from us. The blessing and the curse of working together for so long, being able to read each other is a boon when we’re in the shit, but the personal stuff, the stuff we want to keep hidden? It’s plain as day.”

Will arched a brow. “Like despite the fact that Andre accused you have spending the holiday alone, you’re actually going to a party tomorrow night?” He smirked at her confused expression. “I saw the invitation on your display last week. And with every passing day, your anxiousness levels have risen considerably. You’re looking forward to it.”

Andre grinned at Echo. “That poor guy and his head…”

“You shush, you coked out womanizer.” Echo sniped playfully. She turned back to Will. “But yeah, exactly. We know things about each other. So stop doing a piss-poor job of trying to hide it from us.”

“When did you figure it out?” Will asked, the tequila making him feel gooey. He settled back in his seat, warm and comfortable.

The three of them shared a look.

“Uh,” Budd started, “aside from the heart eyes you’ve been giving her? Probably around the time you, the consummate party pooper, began tagging along with Zoey to every event and shindig she wanted to go to. Christ, you even went to basketball games with her. You made up stories about going with her to introduce her around, to gladhand and network. After she met everyone worth knowing, you started saying it was to watch her back, even though that’s Wu’s job. That’s when we figured you just wanted to be on her arm.”

“And don’t forget the constant squabbling.” Echo cut in. “Believe me, there’s nothing wrong with a little healthy debate or constructive criticism, but what you were doing went _way_ beyond that. You were purposefully trying to piss her off, and you’d get this gleam in your eye, like you enjoyed making her angry. We know you like being a smartass know-it-all, but-”

Will shook his head ruefully. “That’s not the reason why…” He felt himself flush and this time he knew he couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. “When she’s berating me, hurling insults and questioning whether or not I’m even human… it’s the only time she actually _sees_ me. Any other time, I’m just her sounding board or her button man by proxy… someone to hold her purse.”

Budd’s widened in awe. “Holy shit, Andre… you pegged him wrong. We all did.” He shook his head in wonder. “It’s not some stupid crush… you _love_ Zoey.”

Three sets of eyes turned on Will, making him want to melt into the leather of his chair. When he didn’t deny it, their jaws dropped.

“How… when?”

Decidedly uncomfortable with being emotionally flayed open, Will just shrugged, wishing that would be enough of an answer for them. When they just stared, he leaned pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t know. It just sort of… happened. When she first got here, all I wanted was for her to be gone. I would have gladly traded her life to have Arthur back, without an ounce of remorse.” Will opened his eyes, dropping his hand onto the arm of his chair. “But… somewhere in all that, I saw his tenacity in her, his stubborn idiocy that somehow turned a desert wasteland into a gleaming paradise of sin and decadence.”

Echo bit her lip to stifle a grin. “I’m not even going to start psychoanalyzing _that_ sentiment. I know you and Arthur were close, but…”

Will rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want to sleep with Arthur. Hell, it’s in his memory that I have tried my damnedest to tamp down on wanting his daughter. It would feel like a betrayal, and I would _never_ betray him.”

“That just sounds like an excuse to not go for what you want.” Andre scoffed. “The Will _I_ know would never make excuses.”

Will huffed out a world-weary sigh. “I’m going to need more booze for this.”

Budd raised his hand in the air, flagging down the waitress to bring them another round.

With a fresh drink in his hand, Will sipped at his brandy, trying to order his tangled thoughts. “I know, deep down, that Arthur could have tried harder with Zoey, made more of an attempt to act like a father to her, but he _didn’t_. He was more concerned with getting his dick wet and raking in more money than one man could ever spend in a lifetime, so the idea of… _being_ with her isn’t an outright betrayal. But because we were so close, it feels like I would be turning my back on his trust in me.

“If he _had_ done a better job with her,” He continued, recalling a similar conversation he’d had with Zoey about this very topic when she’d first arrived in the city, “if he’d taken her away from the trailer park and brought her here for a new start on life and given her a world-class education, if she had grown up around us, do you think Arthur would have just _let_ me date his much younger daughter? Or would he have come after me with a gun to pull that clichéd overprotective dad act and made you three hide my body?”

“You’re getting caught up on the _ifs_.” Echo said, taking a sip of her wine before crossing her long legs, perching the stem of the glass on her knee. “ _If_ Zoey had come here years ago, she might not be the same person she is now. She could have ended up like all the other insufferable trust fund brats, selfish and entitled. Molech might have made mincemeat out of her if that were case. Hell, go back far enough on the line of dominos in your made up scenario, and you could very well say the shift in events might mean your wife would never have died, which means you’d never even think of Zoey in that way, so as far as excuses go, I call bullshit. Try again, numbnuts.”

Will narrowed his cold blue eyes at Echo. “Which one would you like next, the fact that I’m too old, as Budd said, or the fact that she hates my guts, as evidenced by the fact that all it took was a little prodding to get Zoey to insult me to my face.”

“Bullshit and bullshit. You’re not old, you’re seasoned. And Zoey could do with a little seasoning in… _other_ aspects of her life. Besides, the age difference between you two is much less disgusting than some people’s in this city.”

Andre made a face. “That old ass casino owner from a few years back, Cheese, I think… he was eighty-four when he married that burlesque dancer chick, who was _nineteen_. I can still see the Blink of their wedding in my nightmares.”

“Or go the other way,” Budd offered, “that railway heiress we tried getting to set up shop here, she was in her late sixties and still netted college aged boys with her cobwebby vagina.” He shook his head fondly. “Could have taken her for one hell of a ride, if she didn’t like ‘em so young and inexperienced.”

“It’s not that they’re inexperienced,” Echo explained, “younger guys have more stamina. You old farts blow your load once and it’s lights out, leaving us bored and unsatisfied. Young guys can go multiple times before they lose steam. It’s _men_ who like inexperienced girls, because they don’t know they’re getting the short end of the stick from a guy who can’t eat a girl out properly or even give her a decent lay. They can be a selfish, one-pump chump with a piece of young arm candy and those poor girls don’t even have the slightest clue.”

Andre placed a hand on chest, affronted. “Hey hey hey, I _resemble_ that remark.”

Laughing into his brandy, Will took a sip and shook his head. “Tell us something we _don’t_ know.”

Echo’s eyes lit up. “We’ll tell _you_ something you obviously _don’t_ know. Zoey doesn’t hate you.”

Budd and Andre nodded knowingly, as if Will was mentally deficient for having not noticed it. Budd puffed on his cigar. “You can walk into a room and instantly know which person might go for your throat, but for all your mooning, you can’t tell when that girl is flirting with you.”

“Well, to be fair,” Echo said, “if he’s been living in a constant state of denial, of course he’s not gonna see it. It suits his wall of excuses.”

“I have not- Zoey does _not_ flirt with me.” 

Echo giggled at the absolute absurdity of trying to explain to a man who was almost forty that he was behaving like an idiotic schoolgirl. “ _Yes_ , she does. Sometimes it’s a little thing like a smile or a touch, or playground name-calling, other times… every time she brings a guy home, or even so much as makes nice with them, Zoey will look to you, like she does it just to get a reaction out of you. I think she wants you to stop her, to have a fire lit under your narrow ass so you’ll finally step up and stake your claim. But you never do…

“And, oh my god, when you rile her up, thinking making her insult you was the only way to get her to notice you, she was flinging them at you to rile _you_ up. Watching you two fight… might as well have been verbally copulating. I can’t even tell you how many times I just wanted to scream at you both to get a room.” Echo sighed. “Zoey trusts us all, but she doesn’t treat us the way she treats you, Will. When shit hits the fan, she goes to you. When she wants someone’s approval or to just stand up to her, she goes to you. Christ, when she wants someone to go to basketball games with her, she asks _you_.”

“She never asks _me_ if I wanna go to basketballs games, that’s for damn sure.” Andre harrumphed.

Will turned to stare at him, half in confusion, half in anger at the insinuation that he wanted to be Zoey’s date. He’d definitely had too much to drink. “You don’t even _like_ basketball.” He said curtly.

“But _you_ do.” Echo replied. “That’s why she asks you to go with her, or even just to hang out with her at the Casa and watch the games. But because you’ve been in denial, you see it all as… being her whipping boy, the blunt instrument she only keeps around to protect her, her little bitch she puts on a leash and drags around in public. So your excuse about betraying Arthur, it doesn’t hold water, because he was a man who loved getting what he wanted, and that would have applied to his daughter, making sure she got want she wanted, too. So, if Zoey wanted you… he wouldn’t give a shit, as long as it meant she was happy.”

Will abruptly stood up, walking away from their table.

“What the hell, you’re leaving?” Budd asked after him. “We’re only being cruel to be kind, you puss.”

He stopped and craned his head around to look back at them. “I’m allowed to go to the bathroom, right? Or would you rather I wet myself in my chair?”

They quickly waved him off. Watching a grown man act like a teenage girl was one thing, watching him piss himself was a whole different ballgame.

Will made a tipsy beeline toward the men’s room, and when he found it empty, he praised a god he didn’t even believe in. The silence enveloped him, and Will found it a much-needed respite. If he hadn’t been three sheets to the wind, he might have been able to get a better grasp on the uncomfortable revelations his friends were serving up.

Moving to the urinal, Will unzipped his trousers, balancing himself against the wall with a forearm. He rested his head against his hand, closing his eyes as he relieved himself, at least physically. The copious amounts of liquor churned up his already tumultuous thoughts, which were anything but relieving.

His mind replayed every encounter he’d had with Zoey over the past two years, trying to see the events through the eyes of Echo, Andre, and Budd. Her utter disregard that morphed into annoyed amusement before becoming…

Will sighed. When he was done, he levered himself off the wall to flush and zip himself back up. He spun on his heel toward the sink, catching sight of himself in the mirror. His cheeks were red from drinking and chagrin, his suit rumpled from squirming in his seat. Will quickly tried to smooth the fabric down, and he heard Zoey in his head, laughing.

“ _Do you care about anything as much as you do your ridiculous suits_?”

He did, and that was his problem.

He cared about keeping Zoey safe, from the slavering jaws of anyone who wanted to harm her or topple her inherited empire. Not that she couldn’t handle her own, as she’d proven time and again, much to the surprise of those who thought her weak, but it extended beyond just external threats. He cared about keeping her safe from _herself_. Every time he found her drunk or high, poisoning herself with the drugs they themselves flooded the streets with, Will wanted to grab her by her shoulders and shake some sense into her, to tell he cared too much to see her waste her potential.

Every time Zoey chased after some guy who deigned to give her the time of day only because of her money or some notoriety, driven by a fear of loneliness and isolation borne from a life of poverty and pain that sometimes made her desperate, he wanted to hold her close, to whisper softly in ear that she was never alone. When she dragged him away from his duties to take him to a basketball game, he would see her happiness, her joy, her love of the game, her effervescent rage when her team did poorly, and he wanted to bottle it all up, so he could show her how _he_ saw her when she was bitterly depressed, hating the world when her enemies circled around her like ravenous wolves itching for blood.

Will stared at himself in the mirror, trying to see himself from Zoey’s perspective. From her point of view, _he_ was the lonely one, who never opened himself up to new experiences, who shut himself off from the world, despite ironically wanting to make it a better place. A functional alcoholic who found solace not in people but at the bottom of a bottle, who’d once had it all but lost it to the cruelly indifferent hand of fate.

Now the only time he was happy was when he was making people feel stupid, lording over the feebleminded with his clever intellect, savaging people in boardrooms, fancy cocktail parties, and back alleys in equal strokes. His only joy now was greasing the wheels of the machine, keeping the city running smoothly, making sure the rich got richer by exploiting every law and loophole he could find, as though he were the machine. Cold and unfeeling. A robot designed to look human but was utterly incapable of human emotion. When she laid into him, when she forced him to be her date to basketball games, she was trying to engage him, to bring him out from behind the wall he’d built up for himself, she did so to remind him that he wasn’t cold, that he did have feelings, that he was _alive_.

Pain lanced up his arm, spiderwebbing the nerve-endings until they were on fire.

Will hadn’t even registered that he’d punched the mirror until he felt the hot blood pour from his knuckles, a red smear left behind on the cracked glass. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, the fog of alcohol slightly lifting from the corners of his vision.

Careful not to let the blood drip onto his suit, Will unbuttoned the cuff of his right hand, rolling the material back until his arm was exposed. He turned on the tap and with practiced motions, began pulling out the shards of glass that had gotten stuck between his knuckles.

“All right, which one of you drunk shit-bags is in here destroying- _oh_ , Mr. Blackwater.”

Turning his head, Will spotted the night manager of the bar in the doorway, standing there agog, like he’d just walked in to see a firing squad bearing down on him.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize-”

“Don’t worry about it. Just send me the bill or add it to my tab.” Will tentatively ran his hand under the water, biting his lip to keep from hissing as the stream coursed over raw skin. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it didn’t feel great either.

“Sir, uhm, Mr. Blackwater… are you okay? Do you need me get you anything?” The manager asked, looking like he wanted some excuse to run very far away.

“A towel, for my hand.”

The manager all but tripped over himself to rush out the door.

Will finished cleaning himself up, washing away the blood until the water turned a faint pink. He curled and uncurled his fingers, testing for the pull of a stray glass shard. Feeling nothing, he took one last look at himself in the mirror, the cracks distorting his reflection, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil.

He exited the men’s room.

Some of the patrons glanced his way but knew better than to let their gazes linger. The manager dashed over to him, clutching a clean towel.

Will took it, gently drying his hand before wrapping it around his knuckles, tucking the ends in tightly at his palm. Without a word to the manager, he made his way back over to the VIP section, where Budd, Andre, and Echo were deep in conversation. They stopped as soon as they saw him.

“Goddamn, Will, are you okay?” Budd asked, eyes wide as he stared at the bloody towel.

Echo stood up, reaching out to take Will’s hand to look at it but he easily sidestepped her. “Will! God, did you get into a fight in the five minutes you were gone?”

“Not exactly.” He answered, taking a seat. He saw four full shot glasses of tequila on the table. Impulsively, Will reached in, grabbing them to down each one in quick succession. Drinking was no longer recreational in his mind, it was medicinal.

“Whoa!” Andre boomed. “Those were for _all_ of us, asshole!”

Will grimaced as the tequila burned his esophagus and then burped loudly.

The three of them stared at Will liked they’d just discovered he’d been replaced by a shitty clone.

“My god, man,” Budd breathed, “what the hell happened in that damn bathroom?”

“I’m alive.” Will replied, letting out another, quieter burp. “I need to go.” He pushed himself out of the chair once more. “I have to go see Zoey.”

Andre and Budd scrambled to their feet to stop him, and the last thing Will remembered was a pair of large arms encircling him before the world went black.

* * *

Will came to when he heard the sound of a door opening. Voices filtered in, along with a chilly breeze.

Opening his eyes, Will blinked slowly, trying to regain his bearings. He felt incredibly hot and his hair had fallen into his face, sticking to his damp forehead. Something crinkled in his towel covered hand and he glanced down to see he was holding a bouquet of roses. In the other was a large, hastily wrapped box.

Had he blacked out and gone on a shopping spree?

Looking around, he realized he was in the foyer of the Casa, in his chair that had been rolled out from the Buffalo Room. Nothing made sense anymore and at that point, he didn’t know if he was still drunk or hungover.

The voices that had roused him belonged to Zoey and a lanky guy trailing behind her, wearing leather pants and a frilly shirt.

She was wearing a shimmering red dress that ended at the knee, the bottom decorated with intricate black flowers with the pistils in the shape of skulls, the designs getting smaller as they rose toward the waist of the dress. The top was so tight and low cut her breasts swelled to the point they threatened to spill out with the slightest movement. Over it she wore a black peacoat, her only protection against the wind.

“Holy shit, Will!”

Zoey’s heels clicked across the tile as she ran over to him. The guy, who Will recognized as the black sheep of one of the richest families in the city, lingered behind her, nowhere near as concerned about him as Zoey was. If anything, he just looked unbelievably annoyed.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Standing over him, Zoey worriedly took in Will’s ruffled, unkempt appearance. “Your hand is bleeding! Did something happen?”

“I, uhm…” Will’s mouth was painfully dry, and he swallowed thickly before trying again. “I honestly have no idea. I don’t even remember how I got here. What day is it?”

“It’s Friday. You just left here earlier this afternoon.”

“Oh. Hmm.” He’d only blanked an hour or two, but it still didn’t explain how he got there, or the present and roses.

Alarmed, Zoey brushed his hair aside put her hand to Will’s forehead, her cold fingers feeling lovely on his overheated skin. Will failed to suppress a comforted sigh, tipping his head up into her touch.

“I’m no doctor but I don’t think you’re sick… physically. I already know you’re mentally depraved.” She peered down at him, waiting for him to take the bait, but when he didn’t, her worry grew. “Okay, you’re starting to scare me. Do you remember _anything_ about what happened?”

Will shifted in his chair, the wheels softly squeaking on the tile. “Uh. I went out with Andre, Budd, and Echo. We had drinks at the cigar bar. We discussed… _things_.” He furrowed his brow and glanced down at his bloodied hand. “I think I punched myself.”

Zoey’s fingers left his forehead so she could place her hands on her hips, glaring down at him hard, dark eyes. “You’re not sick, you’re _drunk_! And what, you decided to just sleep it off here, bleeding all over my foyer? This isn’t the home for wayward children, shit for brains!”

“What the hell, babe? We gonna try out this new juice or what?” The guy waggled a drug vape insistently in his hand.

He visibly withered when Zoey turned that heated glare on him. Nicholas Rivers. The name popped into Will’s head suddenly. His mother owned several banks in Tabula Ra$a, and their family was well respected… except for him. Back when the city still had a police force, the young Rivers was a frequent resident of their jail cells. A dozen people had made names for themselves live streaming his many crimes on Blink. It didn’t look like much had changed in the interim.

She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Shut up.” Zoey turned back to Will. “You, un-shut up. Why are you drunk in my house?”

“Mr. Knox, Mr. Billingsly, and Ms. Ling brought him here.” Carlton answered, shuffling into the foyer, moving behind Zoey to take her coat. “They said they couldn’t remember the access code to his gate at home, so they decided he’d be safer here.”

Standing right in front of him, Will got quite the show when Zoey removed her coat, bending over slightly as she wriggled her arms out of the sleeves. The dress only had thin straps, providing little support for her bosom. The cold air had hardened her nipples, which were rudely pointing at him from beneath the shiny material of her dress. His dry mouth instantly watered.

“Ugh, those gibbering fart mongers.” Zoey said with a frustrated groan. “Why’d they leave him out here for me to clean up, instead of stowing his drunk ass in one of the spare rooms?”

Carlton folded her coat over his forearm. “They were quite insistent you know he was here, instead of being surprised tomorrow morning by his presence.” He paused, correcting himself when he remembered the hour. “ _This_ morning, rather.”

She groaned again, deciding she’d exact revenge on them with massive pay cuts. “Well, Mr. Cast Iron Liver, you can’t stay there for the rest of the night, so c’mon, up you get.” Zoey said to Will, waving her hand at him.

It took a moment to get his legs under him, the wheels of the chair messing with his equilibrium. Once he was certain he wasn’t going to tip over, Will nodded his head resolutely, expecting Zoey to show him to the door. She did have company after all. Something bitter bubbled up in his chest.

Instead of giving him the boot, however, she wormed under his arm, placing a hand on his back to help guide him into the Casa. Will then figured out she’d meant he couldn’t stay in the foyer, not in the house itself, and his cheeks flushed in embarrassed realization.

“Whoa, babe, I thought it was just gonna be you and me tonight.” Nicholas asked indignantly, staring at Zoey like she was crazy. “Fuck this old creep, let him sleep it off somewhere else.”

Zoey flashed him a simpering smile. “Well, it _was_ gonna be you and me, now it’s just gonna be _you_. And if you don’t fuck off right now, I’ll rip your head off your shoulders and take a hot, steaming shit down your neck.”

“Pfft, whatever, you fat whore.” He flipped Zoey the bird and stormed across the foyer toward the door, cursing her name as he went.

Even half-drunk, Will made a mental note to utterly ruin what little life young Nicholas had to his name. Will would apologize to his mother after the fact, though he was certain she wouldn’t be too upset. Hell, she might even send him a thank you card for taking care of her problem for her.

“Carlton,” Zoey said, “when you’re done showing this fetal research reject out, would you be so kind as to fetch the spare clothes Will keeps here?” All the Suits kept some belongings at the Casa, in case of long working nights or exploding Raiden tech wearers that left chunks of brain and bone all over them. She didn’t exactly know where, she just knew they sometimes went through wardrobe changes when she wasn’t paying attention. “I’m gonna put him on the second floor near my room.”

“Very good, Ms. Ashe. Would you like me to have security rough up the young man a bit on his way out?”

“Uh… very tempting, but no. Right now, I’m more worried about Will.”

Nodding, Carlton turned to make sure Nicholas actually left the property.

Kicking off her heels and flinging them aside with her feet, Zoey slowly led Will up the staircase, careful not to let him trip over his own two feet. Will clung to her and sighed heavily, not just from the effort. “Of _all_ the people you chose to pick up, it _had_ to be Nicholas Rivers.”

He felt Zoey side-eye him. “He didn’t seem _so_ bad. His parents were hosting a soiree a few blocks over, and I somehow got an invite. It’s Valentine’s Day, and he was pretty much the only single guy there, so…”

“So you brought home the guy who digs up graves and once walked into his mother’s office while she was in a meeting to piss on her.”

Zoey snorted, not even sure where to begin with that particular piece of information. “So… you’re saying there’s a reason he’s single.”

“There’s a reason he is single, yes.” Will leaned on Zoey more than he needed to, enjoying the feel of her arm around him.

Seemingly at random, she selected the spare room next to hers and opened the door. “Well, shit, it’s not like I had many options.” Zoey maneuvered him over to the bed and plopped him down. “You guys all had plans,” She said, turning on the lights, “and I didn’t want to spend the holiday with just Carlton and Stench Machine.”

She glanced at the roses and the gift in his hand quickly before averting her gaze. “Jesus, even _you_ had a date, apparently.” Zoey smiled sadly. “Though I’m guessing, you being you and all, you scared her off with your ugly butt face full of farts and decided to drink yourself half to death in a melodramatic fit of pique. And they call _me_ the stupid girl.”

Through the haze of alcohol, Will peered down at the flowers and the wrapped box, thinking back to the conversation at the bar, and the fact that Carlton had said he’d been specifically left there for Zoey to find. Everything came together like a puzzle in his mind.

Monsters. He worked with absolute monsters. Clever, wonderful monsters.

“No, no date, given the deformed monstrosity that is my face.” He held out his hands with a wavering half-smile. “These are for you, actually.”

Zoey stared at him suspiciously. “Oh right, lemme guess, this is all just a big prank you guys pulled off. A laugh at my expense for spending the weekend alone?”

“What? _No_. That doesn’t even make any sense. Just… take them, they’re yours, whether you want them or not. Throw the flowers away, burn the box, whatever. They are yours to do with as you wish.” Will wasn’t quite sure if he was referring to himself or not.

Cautiously accepting the roses, Zoey buried her nose in the petals, taking a deep breath. “They smell nice.” She said, setting the bouquet down on the bed next to Will. She reached for the box next, arching a brow at the sloppy wrapping job. Zoey made quick work of it and slid the top off the box.

Will tilted his chin up to catch a peek of the contents, not entirely certain the Suits hadn’t just filled the box with dildos and lube.

She pulled out a curved wooden flight holding four silver containers in the round slots. An odd smile colored her features. “Why, Mr. Blackwater, how thoughtful… you might actually convince Stench Machine to quit barfing in your shoes.”

He saw that the containers were for an expensive brand of organic gourmet catnip, each one a different flavor. That would have been Andre, who apparently thought even cats should be able to get high. Next came a slim bottle of wine that Will immediately knew was illegal to possess, considering the current embargo on imports from Morocco. It was from Budd, who probably had a hilariously long-winded story on how he’d obtained it.

The final item, selected by Echo, was a neat square of black cloth tied up with a red ribbon, ending in a tiny bow. Zoey set the box down so she could untie it, unraveling the bow with a gentle tug. She placed the ribbon in the box before unfolding the square.

It was a pair of dainty underwear, with something written on the back. It took a moment for Will to properly register what it said. The only letters were I, F, and YOU, in curly white print with a large pink heart after the F.

I FART YOU.

Zoey’s gaze flicked between them and Will before she busted out laughing. “ _Wow_ … I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified that you know my tastes.” She placed the fabric against her pelvis, looking down to measure the fit. “And my size as well…”

Will ducked his head, his cheeks heating up at the audacity of Echo’s selection on his behalf. The cloud of booze lingering in his system started to fade, making his thinking clearer and he began to second guess himself, second guess the notion of listening to his friends about making a move on Zoey.

“If you were smart, you’d be terrified.” He quickly stood up, forcing Zoey to take a step back, and he stumbled toward the adjoining bathroom, taking care not to look in the mirror. Will pulled the towel off his hand, spotted with red splotches of blood, and tossed it in the trashcan beneath the sink.

Activating the motion sensor with a wave of his hand, the tap turned on and he started washing his hand. With another wave, the tap dispensed a blob of soap. He hissed as it burned on his wound, but he bore through the pain, not wanting to get an infection. There was no telling where the manager had pulled the towel from or how clean it was.

He felt Zoey come up behind him. Will briefly glanced at her. The worried expression was back on her face as she peered up at him. Her head barely reached his shoulders, he was that much taller. He stifled the desire to curl his long frame around her. He kept washing his hands, if only to keep them off Zoey.

“You don’t terrify me, Will.” She said to break the silence that had grown between them. “You _used_ to, but now… when I’m with you, I like that _other_ people are scared shitless of you, because it means they’re so busy avoiding you that they won’t come anywhere near me.” Zoey placed a hand on his arm, as though she were trying to tame a skittish animal. “But I don’t understand why you’d _want_ me to be afraid of you.”

Will shut off the tap and flicked the water from his hands. He rounded on Zoey, looming over her ominously, trying to elicit a reaction that would disprove her statement. The only reaction was that she planted her feet and glared up him, refusing to be intimidated.

“Because if you’re afraid of me, then I-” He shook his head, the words on the tip of his tongue, all he had to do was force them out. “If you’re afraid of me, then I just have another excuse.” He brushed past her, back out into the bedroom.

“An excuse for what?” Zoey asked angrily. He heard her follow behind him. “An excuse for _what_ , Will?”

He turned to face her furiously, like he hated her for asking the question because she knew he would have to answer.

It was the unspoken rule between them, going all the way back to the first day she’d arrived in the city. Even if he used subterfuge and double speak to hide the true nature of his words, when Zoey asked him a question, Will answered honestly.

As he hesitated, he watched her gaze shift, looking from the roses and the gifts back to him. Despite what most people said about her, Zoey wasn’t completely stupid. Will saw the tumblers slowly click into place in her mind. Her expression morphed from anger to surprised understanding.

“ _You’re_ the one who’s afraid.” She breathed. “God _damn_ … all this time, you’ve been nothing but a big dickless bitch. I knew it, I _knew_ it!” Zoey laughed quietly to herself. “God, you are such a _dick_ … you’re a dick who has no dick.”

Will stood there, dumbfounded. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean, it makes sense if you think about it. Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you have a metaphorical dick-”

He held up a hand to cut her off. “No, not that.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” She grinned at him, revealing her missing teeth. It was genuine, as she only smiled like that around people she trusted and cared for, too self-conscious about her teeth to do so otherwise with anyone else. The grin became coy, and Zoey padded over to him, closing the distance between them. He watched the hem of her dress swish around her thighs and Will ripped his gaze up, forcing himself to focus on Zoey’s eyes.

She stopped in front of him, mere inches away and Will was once again reminded of how tiny she was… and how her short stature belied her ferocity. Behind that coy grin was a danger that sent a thrill up Will’s spine.

Zoey tapped a finger to his chest, nail tracing around the button of his shirt, peering up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He could smell her shampoo, the soap on her skin. He pictured Zoey in her fancy tub, the one she’d purchased for herself with all the high-pressure jets they all knew what she did with. Will could see her vividly in his mind, submerged in the bubbling water, eyes squeezed shut, limbs trembling as she moaned…

 _Dangerous_.

It was a ploy, purposefully toying with him to throw him off-kilter. It had worked. The last vestiges of alcohol had twined around his desire, short-circuiting his thoughts until he’d fallen under her wicked spell.

“I think you understand just fine.” Zoey said, voice sinfully low. “And I want to hear you admit it, dickless wonder.”

“Admit what?” Will asked behind clenched teeth, balling his hands into fists at his side.

“All the long hours you spend here even though you complain about being overworked, pretending to fight with me, the constipated look you get when I pick up guys, acting like a henpecked wife when we go out to parties or games together when I knew damn well...” Zoey shrugged casually. “Don’t play dumb with me, not now. You’re the one who had to ply yourself with some Dutch courage just work up the nerve to buy me a Valentine’s gift, so just go ahead and say it already.”

Will gulped audibly, teetering on the edge. “Why haven’t you said it? If you knew, you could have said it first, saved us all the trouble.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. " _You're_ the one who likes to hear himself talk." She moved in, wrapping her arms around Will’s torso, pressing her ear just over his heart. He knew she must have heard it thumping a mile a minute. For all he could pretend to be stoic and aloof, he couldn’t control his heart.

“Please? For me?” She asked plaintively, just to _finally_ hear the answer.

Knowing when he was beaten, Will hugged Zoey back. His motions were stilted at first, not sure where to put his arms despite already having permission to touch her, but he decided to go with what felt natural. He slung an arm around her waist, the other going around her shoulders, sliding a hand over the nape of her neck. He bent down to rest a cheek on the crown of her head. She fit perfectly in his arms, soft and warm, as though she were meant to be there.

“My behavior, the fighting, all of it was-”

“Here are your clothes, Mr. Blackwater, and I brought you some bandages for your hand.” Carlton said, gliding into the room with a first aid kit and a handful of folded clothing for Will. Utterly unfazed, Carlton stood there, looking at Will and Zoey like he hadn’t just caught them in a poignant moment. “If you would prefer, I can put these in Ms. Ashe’s room for you.”

Frozen, neither of them moved, the fear of having been caught with a hand in the cookie jar keeping them in place. Will cleared his throat. “No, that’s all right.” He said, not daring to be quite so ambitious, or presumptuous. “Thank you, Carlton.”

“You’re welcome. Ms. Ashe, Mr. Blackwater, have a pleasant evening.” Carlton set the clothes and the first aid kit on the dresser by the door before leaving them, closing the door softly behind him.

Zoey giggled, burying her head in Will’s chest to hide her face. “God, I love him. _So_ much.” She said, voice muffled. She then slowly pulled away from Will, patting at the rumbled lapels of his jacket. “Come on, get changed and I’ll dress your hand.”

Will hesitated but did as he was bidden. He walked over to the dresser, picking through the clothes Carlton had left him. There was a clean suit and sleepwear, even a thick, fluffy robe if he decided to shower. Will knew if he left his current suit out, he’d wake up in the morning to find it freshly laundered and pressed. Hiring Carlton was one of the most brilliant moves Arthur had ever made, and it wasn’t the first time Will had thought that.

To give him some privacy, Zoey deliberately busied herself going through the first aid kit while Will stripped down, sorting through it for everything she’d need to bandage up his wounds.

“Are you going to tell me what happened,” Zoey asked behind him, “or does it suit your ego better to let me believe that you, of all people, got into a fistfight?” She knew that wasn’t the case, as Will was the type to threaten, not personally act out his violent tendencies, but _something_ had obviously happened.

“No, because I don’t want you to laugh when you hear the truth.” Will answered. “My ego, as you say, just couldn’t take it.”

“I wouldn’t laugh… _much_.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Zoey doing the same and they both quicky turned away, returning their focus to their respective tasks.

For the briefest of moments, as he took off his trousers, Will contemplated sidling up behind Zoey, pulling off her dress and throwing her on the bed. She would let him, too. Going out on Valentine’s weekend, bringing home a guy, Zoey had been expecting to get laid. In that mindset, she would open herself up to him, gladly taking anything he gave her, and then some. The idea of burying himself deep inside her and never leaving was almost too good to pass up, but Will did. Zoey deserved better than a rushed, frantic roll in the hay, especially after the interrupted emotional upheaval. There was still so much more left to be said before he would even consider bedding Zoey.

Throwing his trousers aside, Will put on the soft pajama bottoms, tying off the strings tightly, as if to remind himself they needed to stay firmly _on_. He sat down on the mattress. “I’m decent.” He said.

“Hah. _That’s_ a lie, if I ever heard one.” Zoey replied, picking up the kit and walking over to the bed. She sat down in front of Will and reached for his hand.

Giving Zoey his hand, Will arched his brow. “Well, I didn’t just strip you naked with my teeth and plow you into next week, even though I wanted to. That has to count for something.”

Zoey's cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. “Hmm… finally said it.” She sprayed an antiseptic over Will’s raw knuckles, causing him to grit his teeth as he breathed in sharply. “Thought I was gonna have to pry it out of you. With pliers and a stun batton.”

“I was going to say… not _that_ , exactly, but I was rudely interrupted.”

Zoey snorted. “Now you know I how felt, walking in to see you passed out in a chair like a bum.” She placed a bandage over his knuckles before wrapping his hand in gauze.

“You… weren’t really going to sleep with that guy, were you?” Will asked quietly.

She shrugged her shoulders casually. “Like I said, I didn’t really have a lot of options. The guy I _wanted_ to spend the holiday with was too busy pretending he had no feelings for me, like the idiot he is.” Holding down the end of the gauze with her thumb, Zoey reached into the kit for the roll of medical tape. “This guy, I knew he did, have feelings for me, that is. At first, I thought he didn’t, that he hated my guts or… that he liked me, but not like _that_. It hurt, believing that about this guy, but eventually, I got wise to his stupid little act, because I learned how to read him like a book. So I tried getting him to come out of his shell, but it was getting to the point where I thought only beating him half to death with a hammer would get him to pull his head out his ass. Fortunately for this guy, I liked his brains where they were.”

“Firmly up his ass, with the rest of his head?” Will asked.

Zoey grinned at him. “Apparently.” Once she was certain the gauze would hold, she used her teeth to cut the tape, smoothing her fingers over it to make sure the tape adhered. “There, all better.”

Will flexed his hand carefully, testing her work. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“For what, stopping me from sleeping with a guy who pissed on his mom and… did he _really_ dig up graves, or is that some shit you made up because you were _jealous_?” She asked, wheedling him with a teasing grin.

“I _was_ jealous, but I wasn’t making it up. But it was just two graves, he’s not a necrophiliac. They were his friends from school, and it was for a Halloween prank. Their parents required a _lot_ of therapy afterward.”

Zoey visibly shuddered. “Fuck…” She knew Will had done worse, but never with that sort of depravity.

“Yeah. And that’s just the highlights. But that’s not what I’m apologizing for.” Will took Zoey’s hands in his own and gazed into her eyes. “I’m sorry for letting my brain get in the way of my heart. For trying to reason my way out of acknowledging what I felt, out of some ridiculous sense of self-righteousness, that ignoring my feelings was somehow doing the right thing, by you and by your father.”

Her brow knitted together. “My father…?”

Will huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “He may not have been a father to you, but he was like one to me, more than my own father ever was, and I thought pursuing _this_ would dishonor his memory, that he would somehow disapprove, and I let it get the better of me.”

Zoey tugged her hands out of Will’s, folding her arms across her chest furiously. “Jesus Christ, Will, you are the smartest _dumb_ person I have ever met. My father is _dead_ , he can’t approve or disapprove of _anything_ anymore. All this time, you let me think you wanted nothing to do with me for _him_? God, you really thought it was better for me to think you hated me, just to satisfy your own stupid sense of duty to a _dead_ man? You really _are_ a dick, you know that? A dick who has learned to eat through his butthole and talk nothing but shit.”

“I _know_ it was wrong, it’s _why_ I’m sorry, even though all the sorrys in the world won’t make up for the fact that I behaved the way I did.”

She harrumphed. “Damn right they won’t.”

Feeling the window close on what might have been, Will hung his head. He’d been too late, made too many mistakes, and treated Zoey too poorly for her to ever properly forgive him. He cursed himself for being unable to predict the outcome of his actions, or inaction, to prevent their current impasse. There was no one to blame but himself, he’d chosen to stupidly fall on his own sword, now he had to suffer through it gutting him.

“But three sorrys in five minutes is a good start.” Zoey finished, taking mercy on Will after watching him stew in his own misery, letting him have a taste of his own medicine.

He whipped his head back up, eyes wide, staring at Zoey like he’d misheard her.

Zoey smiled back at him and unfolded her arms to pat his hand. “Go on, let’s get you tucked in. It’s way past our bedtime.” She stood up to gather everything off the bed, Will’s discarded clothing, the first aid kit, the roses, and the giftbox, placing them all on the dresser as Will lifted the covers, sliding in between the cool sheets.

She walked back over to the bed to pull the blankets up around Will as he settled his head on the pillows. “I don’t know what brought on this sudden epiphany of yours, but I’m glad for it. Trying to figure you out made me want to claw my face off.”

Will looked up at her balefully. “I finally had some sense knocked into me. Thankfully not with your hammer.”

“Well, since Carlton is probably somewhere thinking we’re up here getting a lot of exercise, he’ll have a big breakfast set up for us in the morning. You can tell me all about it then.” Zoey leaned over and pressed a featherlight kiss to Will’s lips, a gentle promise of things to come.

Will kissed her back, restraining himself to keep from chasing after that mouth, to keep from throwing caution to the wind and following through on his earlier impulses. “I’m sorry.” He breathed shakily.

“I know,” Zoey replied, “you’re the sorriest sack of shit I ever met…” She brushed their lips together again. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Will.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Zoey.”

**Author's Note:**

> I now have diabetes.


End file.
